Sing a song of sixpence..........(or "Quoth the Raven......?)

It's official, I have a cold. It wasn't immediately recognizable as such, insofar as it is not that unusual for a 50 plus year old smoker to occasionally feel like shit and cough a lot.

So I have reverted to the tried and true method of dealing with a cold, to wit; Sleep a lot, take aspirin, drink OJ, and leave the barley and the hops out of the water you consume for a while.

I had a Tarot reading at the Olde English Faire saturday that foretold all my ice cream dreams were going to come true........

This morning I was roused from sleep by a bird screeching and flapping against something...........one hell of a racket. I assumed it was coming from outside, perhaps a retarded bird thinking itself trapped under the porch near the front door.
I felt puny enough that I elected to go back to sleep rather than investigate.

When I did finally get out of bed, I went through my usual routine of making coffee, retrieving the paper, scraping the bunny guts off the front porch, saying unfriendly things to the cat (in a deceptively soothing tone of voice) and the recently added (and delightful) exercise of checking how many new hits I had gotten on this page and where they came from.

As I sat at the computer, a small bird (possibly a wren or a sparrow........I didnt have my glasses on and I lose a bit of detail with distance) flew into the living room and lit on the camera tripod. He paused there for a moment, trilled a bit and then flew off to perch on a drapery valance. I opened the front door and walked away and the bird flew out and away. Exactly how the bird got into the house I haven't a clue.......

I know much of nothing about omens and auguries, but in light of my Tarot reading, I will take this as a powerful one........not in the least diminished by the occasional dropping I have been finding since then. It has to mean something that i found one of the droppings just inches from my coffee cup on the kitchen counter as opposed to finding one IN my coffee cup.

On the way out of the Faire, Saturday, Cheyenne wanted to stop one more time at the petting zoo. She likes little animals but is wary to the point of fear of large animals. Thus she hadn't petted the llamas or the pony on the first two visits to the zoo.

She also turned down the pony ride on the first go-around. However, she did see all the other kids enjoying themselves with the ponies and the llamas and I could tell she was talking herself into overcoming her fears. In this, she could serve as an example to those much older and much more possessed of a logical thought process than she is at four years of age.

She finally decided that she wanted to ride the ponies...(she was scared to death and didn't enjoy it much).....and finally (cautiously) approached the llamas and petted them. I pointed out to her how soft their wool was and told her (ever the fucking pedant that I am) that their wool was so soft that people knitted sweaters out of it. The following conversation ensued:

Cheyenne: "They sure don't need a sweatshirt, Papa."

Me: "No they don't, Sweety, they'd be pretty hot if they had a sweatshirt on."

Cheyenne: "Yeah, Papa, they'd be sweatin' to hell if they had a sweatshirt on."

Me: "ummm..........that's 'to heck' Sweety.........'to heck'."

Cheyenne: "OK Papa..........they'd be sweatin' to heck."

And here I've been worried about asking my Mom to "pass the fucking butter" ever since I got out of bootcamp.

I have laundry to do, a book to read (book VI of the Dark Tower series, "Song of Susannah"), and I think I'll buy a lottery ticket.

Thus endeth the entry.........